


The Baker Street Boys

by ColetteLunsford



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, I can't eat in the college lunchroom anymore, I couldn't help myself, I'm Sorry, Jim Being Creepy, Jim needs to relax, John is a Saint, Lestrade is Harassed, Multi, My face when I wrote this, Mycroft is Harassed, Oh My God, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetteLunsford/pseuds/ColetteLunsford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I blame the picture I found online. If you type in BakerStreet Boys you'll see what I mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baker Street Boys commerical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine all the different transitions they could've used.

 

**Watch out World!**

There’s a British Invasion heading for a radio near _you!_

A new band is coming from the prestigious _Hudson Records_!

And no we’re not talking about any British _boy band_ ; we’re talking about a British **man band**!

That’s right!

It’s the _Baker Street Boys_!

You know them from their chart topping single, _The Pink Lady_ or their latest hit, _The Blind Banker!_

These men aren’t some simpering prepubescent **kids** jumping around on stage with half-baked lyrics and they’re not just men.

They’re British _gentlemen_ with _class!_

But just because they’re old doesn’t mean that they’re unattractive or out of touch!

Far from it!

The _Baker Street Boys_ are anything but! They’re all _devastatingly_ handsome!

 **Mycroft Holmes** , the leader and the smart silent type!

 **Sherlock Holmes,** the rebelling little brother and official sexy one!

 **Greg Lestrade** , the strong sassy bad boy of the group!

 **John Watson** , the cute one who’s always honest!

And **James Moriarty** , the resident sweetie pie and prankster!

They not only sing and dance but they actually _play_ music!

With **Mycroft Holmes** gracing the piano and sometimes accompanying his brother **Sherlock** on the violin, **Greg Lestrade** on the guitar or bass, **James Moriarty** on drums, and **John Watson** spicing up the recorder for all those haters!

Prepare to be cold stone soothed by their meaningful lyrics and pieces that are soon to be heard on the _Great Game tour_ starting in Europe and heading to a nation near you!

_ The Baker Street Boys! _

Look for a concert listing near you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.


	2. Talk Shows Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys I can't keep a straight face at all what's wrong with me?

“ _Baker Street Boys_ you’re on in 5!”

 

Searching around the backstage for any sign of the others Greg shifts from foot to foot, “Jesus those 3 are really pushing it aren’t they? I though they said that it was going to be a quick wardrobe change.”

Checking his cell for any texts or calls Greg turns to Mycroft standing there sincerely with his signature brolly on arm forever looking like a businessman and less like a pop star.

Really, it was funny when you looked at the group, it didn’t scream singing sensation; more like a bunch of older men in suits but here they were fixing to go on the most top rated talk show, _Jerry Sprogs_ in all of Great Britain before going on their world tour.

Greg was surprised that their PR Stamford was able to book them, really. Generally it took years to get on the listing.

Hell, if anyone had told Greg that in less than a year he’d be divorced from the love of his life he would’ve punched you in the face.

Had you told Greg that he’d not only be divorced from his wife, quit his job as Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard to be a pop star he’d take you in to see what narcotics you were ingesting.

But here he is, one chart topping song later getting molested by girls half his age declaring their undying love and promises of the carnal nature.

If Linda could only see him now…

“You know how my dramatic brother is Gregory; more’s the pity that even after recruiting Dr. Watson into the fold he still acts like a spoiled child.”

Spoiled nothing, Sherlock acts like he doesn’t even care about the instant stardom.

First he runs the group ragged as he commandeers most what would have been the lyrics banging heads against both Mycroft and Jim (both had been quite adamant on what the song should sound like and were most definitely _not_ joyous to have their work ruined), changes the name of the song from the _Study in Pink_ to _The Pink Lady_ and then critiquing the instrumental bit to tears.

Or at least him; John appeared to have taken a rapt interest in what Sherlock’s proceedings as the deadline got closer to the wire.

The violin solo should be _here_ and the guitar should come in _there_. No; we can’t connect the sound at this juncture it needs to blend _there._

Heaven forbid they just play what comes to mind these bloody blokes had _formulas_ to make their success.

At the rate they were heading they were lucky that Mrs. Hudson herself wasn’t breathing down their collective necks for the finished product.

However they all pulled through after much, much debating and shouting to create _the Pink Lady_ without the decapitation of anyone (even if Jim can’t stop threatening to burn the heart out of Sherlock) and their rise to Stardom began.

And Jim was no better, if not more enthusiastic about his new stardom status. Weeks were spent putting the music video for _The Pink Lady_ was painful as well, with Jim and Sherlock going at each other necks for blood.

While the two battled it out on dance moves Mycroft merely sat by and watched them as Greg and John tried to keep production moving.

_No we need to step, step and then pose! Not step, step and kick!_

_I’m sorry which of us was a drama major?_

_Are you truly that mediocre that you have to copy such an atrocity?_

_Bitch **please** ; I have more flair than you have facial hair._

After settling on an artistically manufactured tango/breakdance skirmish then came the next battlefield, **clothing**.

Hours spent in the costume department with Jim tearing it up, forcing Greg and John to be trapped and playing dress up until Jim was satisfied.

Yards of clothing and make up wasted in the process…

If the Baker Street Boys ever remained famous enough to create more music videos Greg was going to demand that he get a stunt double to do his parts.

There was no way on earth Greg was going to dawn that much pleather, eyeliner and denim again he was going to call it quits contract be damned.

Their mute manager Athena could bite him with her mobile device!

He’s not 20 for god’s sake!

How Mycroft got away with wearing one of suits and Sherlock a silk purple shirt with dress pants was both unfair and beyond him.

And he knew that John was equally uncomfortable with his costume choice, it must have been hard to dance around in cameo lace tank and doctor’s trench coat.

Greg runs a hand through his already greying hair as he sighs, they had less than 3 minutes before they go on air and he cannot fathom why he’s the only one feeling the pressure.

“ _Baker Street Boys_ to the stage left for intro prepare to walk on my mark!”

“Christ they’re really cutting it close.”

“My dear Gregory, if the past month has escaped your notice those three are always pushing the deadlines. I hardly believe that someone as loyal as Dr. Watson, vain as Sherlock or Moriarty would miss an opportunity such as this. Rest assured they will be here in time for the question round concerning our plans.”

The show’s theme track started playing and the host is walking onstage sending a witty zinger to the crowd and the audience is politely clapping away.

“Hope you’re right Myc.”

“I have no doubts.”

 _I’m glad one of us does,_ Greg thinks he braces himself for the crescendo of noise about to assault his person.

“And I’d like you guys to help me welcome the world’s hottest boy band-I’m sorry I mean man band, **_The Baker Street Boys!”_**

Parading on the stage Mycroft and Lestrade are showered with undergarments, praises and catcalls made from man and woman alike as they stride towards the couch in the center.

“ **I LOVE YOU** _GREG LESTRADE_!”

“ _MYCROFT_ YOU’RE SO **SEXY!**!”

_“LET ME HAVE YOUR BABIES!!”_

_“_ I’LL _ADOPT_ BABIES WITH YOU!”

“ **MARRY ME**!”

“NO MARRY _ME!”_

“I’M YOU’RE BIGGEST FAN!”

“NO **I** AM!”

“ **THE HELL YOU AREN’T**!”

“I SAW THEM **FIRST!”**

“YOU WANNA DANCE **BITCH?”**

“BRING IT ON YOU _WANNABE POSER_!”

“WHAT DID YOU CALL _ME?”_

“YOU HEARD **ME!”**

That danced with other unintelligible screams and words while the pair sat on the couch and waited for the thunder to settle.

Once the security personnel calmed the fans down enough to stop the imminent blood bath about to unfold in the seats and the underwear removed from the stage the host, Jerry Sprogs, was able to begin the show.

“Well, you guys are definitely popular enough to incite a riot you must be good.”

Meeting Jerry’s gaze Mycroft gives him with a show smile, “We’d prefer the term musically proficient and that all our fans that recognize this to be savvy enough to appreciate music even in its abstract form.”

The squealing intensifies as Mycroft turns to smile at the audience.

“MYCROFT I **LOVE** _YOU_!” screams a woman in the second row wearing a shirt saying ‘ _the future Mrs. Holmes’_.

Immediately Mycroft inclines his head in the fans’ direction and the woman swoons to the floor as she foams at the mouth.

“Oh drop the humble pie act Mycroft we all know you’re off your diet anyway.”

The roar of the legions begins again with another brigade of panties and thongs as Sherlock and Moriarty strut on stage with John in tow.

“SHERLOCK YOU _SEXY BEAST!”_

“ **I LOVE YOU**!”

“JIM! **JIM**! OVER HERE LOOK OVER _HERE_!”

“ _JOHNNNN!!!!”_

“OH MY **_GOD_** MY OVARIES!”

“I THINK I’M PREGANT!”

“TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES!”

“BACK THE HELL OFF _MY_ MAN!”

“ _YOUR_ MAN?”

Thus the security holders descended on the crowd as the last three members seat themselves on the couch as Mycroft glared at Sherlock.

“So nice of you to join us guys. So what was the big hold up if you don’t mind me asking,” greets Jerry.

Springing on the couch Jim’s the first to answer, “We had to go back for John’s sake. His clothing choice was _terrible_! We couldn’t let him show up looking like a train wreck so we took John back and fixed him up. What do you think? I’m more of a Westwood man myself but I thought this ensemble really emphasized John. Doesn’t Johnny look positively _adorable_?”

Cameras and fans instantly fixated on John as he fidgeted under the scrutiny while they drank in the dark blue flannel bringing out his eyes, dark skinny jeans hugging his compact thighs, and dress shoes.

The resounding ‘awes’ ringing through the rafters was quite impressive for such a small studio audience.

“Looking sharp there Watson, so how did you crazy kids get the idea to start a man band? I hardly think that someone with such a distinguished career as yours would be here,” Jerry comments.

“Ta for that Jerry, I was Detective Inspector mind you,” retorts from his end of the lumpy red couch.

The crowd giggles for a moment as die hard Lestrade fans cry in outrage causing uneasy security details to swarm near the affected areas.

Holding his hands up in surrender Jerry continues hoping to settle the storm, “I understand, cool your jets former Detective Inspector. So starting down the line, with our resident funny man, James Moriarty if you’re willing to share.”

“Please call me Jim, Jerry,” Jim says with a wink and smirk.

And the fans go wild before they instantly shut up at Jim’s hand command.

“Alright Jim, how did you come to be united in this man band?”

Giggling Jim starts leaning all over John, “Oh, that’s such a _boring_ story Jerry! But for my adoring fans, I’ll tell it!”

John attempts to push Jim off only to have Jim settle on his lap, “Darling stop squirming you’re making me horny.”

Face flamed John stops trying to liberate himself and begrudgingly let Jim sit on him as he now receives leers and whistles.

“So as it were I went to the same college as Sherly here, same major and everything.”

“Must have been fun right Jimmy?”

The look on Jim’s face drops a bit before regaining his sunny disposition, “It’s Jim, Jerry. Anyway we rivals back in college, competed with _everything.”_

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“ _Everything?”_

**“Everything.”**

_“Everything?”_

“Jerry if you continue with this spiel for time to increase ratings I will make you into a pair of _shoes_ and wear them to the next concert.”

There’s a hush as the cameras look to pale Jerry Sprogs.

“So like I said, we were competitors in college and it wasn’t until our final years of college until we started competing on a musical level considering we were more into intellectual pursuits. So when our college was sponsoring a singing contest it was only natural for us to attend and battle with our sultry voices.”

At this point Jim’s practically lying all over John while subtly getting closer to Sherlock, “Like everything we do it was fantastic! But of course in the end Sherly took the gold. Probably because they were too enraptured with his good looks. Made me mad enough to murder.”

At this everyone laughs except for those seated on the couch, with a flourish turns to the crowd, “But you know what they say, when one door closes another one opens! Soon Sherly shows up at my doorstep claiming that he’s forming a man band to rock the music industry to its core and I would have been stupid not to agree.”

“You agreed that fast to pair off with your rival Jim?”

Now a smug looking Jim’s seated between Sherlock and John looking relieved to have the extra body weight off his person, “Well who would say no to cheekbones like that?”

The audience sounds off with a mixture of ‘yes’ and ‘John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Jim is better.’

“Settle down, Settle down, now Sherlock, same question,” Jerry shoots at Sherlock.

Sherlock simply stares off into space.

“Sherlock?”

“Is he okay guys? Not in a coma right?”

Mycroft waved his hand in dismissal, “Nothing to worry about, my brother’s just lost in his mind.”

“It’s a called a mind palace Mycroft.”

Nobody minds John as Mycroft now takes the spotlight, “You see my brother; much like myself is a genius. He can’t rely on trivial pursuits to keep his mind from going into atrophy; he needs constant stimulation to keep him going into trances like this. With that in mind it was a simple fix to instate him into the unpredictable world of stardom just to keep him from shooting the walls in his flat.”

Once more laughter is present while those on the couch are unmoved with the exception of Jim who titters quietly into an unresponsive Sherlock’s shoulder.

“If you wanted stardom for Sherlock why did you enter the picture as well?”

Mycroft shifts himself into a better position to see Sprogs over the over masses occupying the couch, “Sherlock wanted to be contrary and stated that he wouldn’t sing for the masses unless I were to follow suit. He did this as a misguided conception that I would neither follow through or provide the materials necessary to complete it.”

“So did you get everything?”

“We are here aren’t we? Jesus, I thought this show only runs for 2 hours not 10,” grouses Greg from the far end of the couch.

Taking a quick sip of his coffee Sprogs addresses Greg, “Okay mister impatient then what’s _your_ story?”

Greg rudely salutes the man before he begins causing Jim to giggle and Mycroft to roll his eyes, “My story stems off of Myc’s. When I met both the Holmes down at the Yard when the brat was still a junior. Causing an awful lot of trouble in the name of SCIENE.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say science like that, is it some kind of code.”

Greg just stares at the man as does the rest of the gang, “If you knew Sherlock like we do you would know why it’s always SCIENCE.”

“Back to the story then…you knew both brothers from detaining the younger, what was his crime?”

“Failure to leave a crime scene.”

The gasps in the room are anything but quiet as fan-girls and fan-boys alike are on the edge of their seats.

“Oh my, did he cause it?”

“No he solved it. In record time too but regardless we couldn’t have him containing the scene and he refused to leave. From that point on the kid was bugging me for cases and it was driving me insane so Myc offered him an alternative. Join their man band and it will save some of my dying hairs and his hairline.”

A man from the 5th row stands up, “AND YOU STILL LOOK LIKE A FOX!”

Greg gives a lazy grin to the fan before the security gorillas force him to sit down again.

“Sounds like a true friend huh Mycroft? Willing to put up with your brother and help you succeed in front of billions of people.”

Mycroft returns his attention to the talk show host, “Indeed, Gregory’s assistance has been most valuable to my repertoire. I find myself blessed that our paths have crossed.”

Awes fill the studio again as the two men regard each other.

But the there’s still one member to go before the show is said and done.

Now everyone’s attention is on John, “John, I hear you were in the army before you were tussled into the group.”

Ignoring the kissy faces aimed from Jim John tries to engage Jerry, “Well, yeah. I was Captain Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. I was sent as a doctor but when bullets are flying one learns how to shoot to keep your company alive.”

A sign saying ‘SUPPORT OUR TROOPS’ goes flashing into the air along with several whistles.

“Can’t imagine how terrified you must have been surrounded by all that death and destruction.”

Jim’s trying to worm his way back onto John’s lap and John’s going as far as putting his legs up to defend himself, “ No, it wasn’t that bad actually. I mean the killing and dying part was horrid but our troops made it work under those harsh conditions. I met a lot of good men and women on both sides and let me tell you war is hell.”

“I heard you were also shot while on tour, is that true?”

At this point Jim’s plastered himself to John’s side instead, “Yeah, I was shot in the shoulder. What of it?”

“It’s just with all those fresh moves in your latest music video _The Pink Lady_ you’d hardly guess that you’re army Swiss cheese.”

The laughter is not forthcoming as Sprogs hoped.

“Anyway, how did Sherlock come into play? Did you know each other priory?”

“Actually when I was discharged honorably from the army I ran into an old friend of mine from Uni, Mike Stamford. We were grabbing coffee when I ask him if he knew of any employment opportunities being connected as he was. He asked me if I still sing as good as I did in the old days. I said, I sing well enough why? Then he tells me he’s starting a man band and could use another member.”

John stops for a moment to drag Jim’s mouth away from his ear, “I was like you’re joking right? We’re like over 40 no one would pay to see old geezers like us on stage singing but Mike insisted that I meet one of the members. Being a good friend and all I let him lead me to one of the more illustrious members residing in St. Bart’s. Before I even finish settling into the lab the man’s deucing the life out of me from what I ate last night to my family history. It was brilliant!”

“You do know you said that out loud right?”

“Don’t worry it’s all a part of his _adorable_ charm right Sherly?” Jim injects as he sits properly (for once) between Sherlock and John.

Of course Sherlock fails to respond.

John’s gritting his teeth.

“Either way Sherlock has me on the line telling me that he can fix my limp if I join the group and that he swears I’ll be moving in no time.”

“Did he deliver?”

“Please, forgo these tedious attempts to lengthen your time slot for ratings Sprog it only shows how your fan base is depleting with your names worth.”

Suddenly everyone’s turned to the reanimated Sherlock on the couch looking far more bored than he has reason to.

“Welcome to the land of the living Sherlock, are you finally ready to talk with the adults?” Sprogs pokes obviously sore at the jab.

“Honestly as if you would fit under the guidelines, treating guest such as ourselves with little to no respect. Did you really think that no one would notice in excess cash stashed in your locker from upselling the seats for our arrival? You think you’ve been clever all these years by selling them to the highest bidder or for sexual relations but tonight is the end of it. You’ve already confirmed their suspicions just by the mere number of condoms and stacks in your dressing room. In fact they already have police ready to escort you the moment this show stops.”

Sprogs is starting to look shifty as he looks around at his fellow coworkers, “I have no idea what you’re talking about their Sherly. The seats were the same price as they ever were since the day I was instated.”

Sherlock scoffs as he sits up straight, “Your coworkers aren’t as dumb as you paint them to be, they watch their monitors and actually listen to complaints from their audience members. Did you really believe that they shove them into the trash like you’re so fond of doing? No they have been waiting for this for a long time and they have all the proof they need thanks to several key witnesses that sit here today and the money trail leading to your bank account.”

At this Sprogs looks ready to keel over from the mere thought of it as Sherlock continues to rattle off evidence that can very well keep him in jail for the rest of his life. The studio audience captured by his deductions that fire at rapid speed to accommodate the show’s time slot down until the very last minute.

“Amazing!”

Sherlock stops his rant to look at a sheepish John passes weakly, “Sorry…I’ll stop doing that.”

Sherlock looks equally lost as he offers, “No, it’s fine, really.”

At this Mycroft stands and addresses the crowd before him, “As it seems our good host Mr. Sprogs has taken leave of his duties I will conclude this broadcast. We are the Baker Street Boys and we hope to see you at our next concert in New York City, where we will be preforming our newest song _The Hounds of Baskerville_ along with other hits such as _The Clues are Coming Together_ and _Brilliant!”_

Taking a calculated step forward towards the audience (to the fear of the security workers and delight of the fans) Mycroft continues, “Please be sure to follow us on social media in order to find the nearest concert and keep up with our progress on the tour.”

Jim’s taken the stage as well as he strolls beside Mycroft, “You’ll get to see how we act behind the scenes, the fun, and the lies!”

“The eyeballs in the butter slot,” chimes in Greg as he walks to stand beside Mycroft.

Sherlock his rolling his eyes as John forcibly yanks him off the diseased couch and towards the center stage to Jim’s left, “For the last time Lestrade it was a vital experiment for SCIENCE.”

“I don’t care if it’ll turn broccoli into gold don’t leave them in the butter dish again!”

“We’ll be sure to post regularly when we can,” John pushes on while trying not to keep Sherlock from spewing into another rant, they had 15 seconds left.

“From _all_ of us,” Mycroft clarifies as he sends a meaningful shot at his brother.

Jim’s linking arms between h Mycroft and Sherlock as the floor director urges them to close, “Thanks everyone for having us I’m Jim!”

“Mycroft.”

“Greg.”

“John.”

“And that’s Sherlock, and we are the Baker Street Boys! See you state side!”

Finally the camera shuts off and the man band disappears backstage with the crowd going wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I should stick to writing this stuff in my room because generally the library is crowded on the 2nd floor and I managed to get the surrounding tables completely empty.  
> Also I still need some lyrics!  
> If you're musically inclined feel free to shout out!


	3. Heading to the Empire state of mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say...  
> it took a while to write this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to Murder-chan for helping make lyrics to 'The Pink Lady'  
> Seriously, I need help with the others so if you're feeling lyrical all help is appreciated.

Fending off the last of the remaining backstage crew in the most polite manner that could be mustered by a mere mortal John quickly shut their dressing room door along with the resounding roar of their fan base slowing becoming a low hum behind the industrial steel.

The moment door engages the lock all hell splits the once companionable air that shrouded them before.

John is immediately in Jim’s space with an air of discontent while Jim is grinning on the small puce couch curtsey of the Jerry Sprogs show with cell phone in hand.

“ _Adorable_?”

Jim’s eyes are dancing with delight as John fumes closer, “If the shoe fits _sweetheart_ and I should know; fashion is my thing.”

Greg pauses from fixing his grey hair and looks at him through the mirror, “I thought you majored in theatre?”

The look on Jim’s face is annoyed for a tic giving John momentary satisfaction before the taunting smile came again, “I did but I’m just such a _multi-faceted_ individual that I minored in Fashion among _countless_ others unlike some one trick pony I know.”

John’s about five seconds away from smashing Jim’s face into the crusty couch cushions before Mycroft chimes in, “Even without Moriarty’s meddling you were indeed voted by the fans to be the ‘adorable’ one as it were John and it’s only help boost your ratings in the band. So there’s no need to be testy.”

John lets loose a large indignity filled huff that is echoed by Greg finally done preening in the mirror to defend his friend as he places a hand on Mycroft, “Myc, no bloke wants to hear they’re adorable, we’re supposed to be dashing, handsome, and dishy.”

Mycroft gives a suffering look at his companion as he shrugs the hand off his shoulder, “And no one wants to be referred to as an ‘ice man’ either but here I stand without complaint.”

Greg makes a rude sound that’s echoed by John’s eye roll as he walks to the mini fridge, “You know that only happened because you were being unfriendly to your fan girls.”

“They accosted me and assaulted my person with unwelcomed advances that I was not privy to acknowledging at the present time. They were merely fortunate enough to have social media on their side as I should have had them arrested.”

John is beginning to open up a water bottle when he throws one and in the air before taking a swig, “Welcome to stardom Mycroft! You will get attacked by fans on occasion for being famous! Who _knew_?”

“Obviously that was given even without the stardom status I now carry, I merely was caught off guard with the lack of security present,” Mycroft sniffed before fishing out his phone to view his latest stats from the show.

“At least you know better than to underestimate the true power of hormone enraged girls,” John teased, “Lord knows, you’ll never get caught by the likes of them without your signature wall of body guards.”

And it is true, as now Mycroft Holmes is far more covered than he ever was a politician. It just goes to show how much worth is placed in _paid_ celebrities or actors than in actual working members of the government.

It was such a depressing sight.

“I know, I tried going down to the station to see some of my mates off and the place was stormed by these girls and boys screeching for autographs and flashing their phones for pictures. It was a mad house!”

Greg shakes his head at the memory, “For all my years in the force I’ve never seen so many officers at a loss trying to control a crowd and my team would handle **armed** riots.”

John’s pointing a finger now at Greg, “I remember that, Mycroft had to send a helicopter to be a decoy so you could escape in a car and you still got tailed by the paparazzi until Mycroft started playing with the traffic lights.”

“As do I, I had to cash in a very big favor to authorize that landing and make a sizeable donation to Scotland Yard and the city because of the disturbances.”

“Which were greatly appreciated by the force and **helped** boost your popularity,” added Greg as he scrounged around the mini fridge for the beer he left there.

Mycroft could not deny that the donation had aided him causing more Londoners to donate to more public projects then before however; the memory still is unpleasant as he recalls the media storm that followed.

So many were paid off for their silence, media accounts were deleted and others threatened with deportation if they posted any of the pictures that were not validated through his people from that day.

Truly it was not a day he wished to recall.

John chuckled fondly at the memory, as he chased down Sherlock who used the commotion to make off with several cold case files for ‘THE WORK JOHN THIS IS IMPAIRATIVE TO THE WORK.’

Sure, he solved the cases and came up with the ‘The Pink Lady’ but there were still charges for taking evidence, using such evidence to make a pop song and breaking into a police station under fire.

Still, it was one exciting first day as band mates with Sherlock Holmes, police warrants now withstanding.

The mood is marginally lightened as the Baker Street boys sit in what could be called comfortable wake for a nanosecond before the biblical snake enters the once peaceful garden to stir up more discord.

“Ladies, Ladies! _Please_ stop it with the pitiful story posturing; we all know you’re all ugly compared to Sherlock and I! There’s no reason to pretend you even had a standing for first and second place in the popularity ratings.”

And like that the mood soured.

Greg gives a bark of laughter before leaning on the wall, “You’re not mental enough to think that you’re in the lead being such a twat.”

“Of course not s _weetheart_ ,” drawls Jim taking up more space on the mini couch therefore giving no room for the others, “I’m right where I want to be in the ratings, **under** Sherlock.”

“As if he’d ever have you,” John bites back, it was no secret that Jim carried a torch for Sherlock, it was the whole reason they were in this mess to begin with but there’s no way John would let his friend be bullied into a relationship with this mad man.

He owed Sherlock too much for curing his limp and giving him a more exciting career than a simple locum doctor. To John, Sherlock saved him that day when his friend Mike Stanford introduced them.

So John would be damned if he didn’t return the favor even if he wasn’t as musically talented as Sherlock; he was going to give it his all if it made Sherlock’s dream come true.

“Speaking of Sherlock where is the blighter anyway?” question Greg looking about the room, “I could have sworn he came in with us.”

“Now boys, there’s no need to name call, he’s right here with me.”

All heads point to the door way revealing their producer and weathered CEO of Hudson Records, Ms. Maratha Hudson standing beside her apparent escort, Sherlock.

“Ms. Hudson!”                                 

“Ms. H!”

“Good evening Ms. Hudson.”

And

“Hey boss lady!”

All filled the air as she batted the greetings away, “Oh stop it boys. Listen, I came down here for a reason. Sherlock take a seat would you please.”

Sherlock graciously kisses her cheek before leaving; Jim scoots widely to show there’s plenty of room on the couch only to be ignored in favor of the little vanity chairs besides John.

Jim glares at John accusingly as John gifts him a cheeky grin.

“Boys! Eyes up here please!” calls Ms. Hudson from the front and they quickly turn to obey.

Maratha straightens her lavender dress as she begins, “Now, I know we’re all thrilled about our little tour through the world but we need to set up some ground rules before I set you off with my blessing.”

Her finger goes to Mycroft first, “You dear need to loosen those tail feathers of yours; you can’t always have young lads like John and Greg doing all the leg work for you.”

Mycroft places his phone away as he solemnly nods, “Of course Ms. Hudson, you have my word as I will strive to become more functioning member as you requested.”

“And don’t think I didn’t see you trying to out buy my stock in the company either Mycroft. Pull another stunt like that and the next video will be you dancing in a leopard skin leotard young man,” Ms. Hudson threatens.

Regardless if the threat is real or not, it still sends shivers down the Baker Street Boys’ collective minds at witnessing such an image.

While Mycroft can protest the arrangement by funding the music videos himself as a private party but as he is under contract and her payroll he would still be obligated to adhere to her demands.

Next Martha’s hand falls to Jim, “Now you’re in trouble too young man! Trying to hack my systems and the fan site to boost your ratings. We fixed it this morning so you’re still at a respectable third.”

Moriarty’s eyes flash with anger before settling on petulant frown at the accusation but Martha’s having none of that, “You’ll lay off the tricks or you’ll be seeing a big one in your next photo shoot as well next year. Where was it again...Malian?”

“ _Paris!_ ”

Jim cannot fathom what the old crone could do to his modeling career to launch his Westwood collection but considering her reach over the metaphorical and literal celebrity plane he wouldn’t put it past her.

Especially after what she did to her former client Irene Adler, once a one hit wonder in London before she was dropped off the label for his sexual content in her latest album ‘ **Dominatrix**.’

No one’s heard of her since the fall.

“Alright, no need to get snippy Jim. I’m an old lady; I _do_ get some leeway here. Oh…my hip.”

Instantly a chair is procured by Sherlock who is favored with a hair pat before returning to his seat.

Martha seems a bit lost before she sets her eyes on her next target, “Let’s see then…Greg! You’ve got a bit of a potty mouth on you don’t you?”

Greg the cheeky thing just grins at his employer and raises his bottle in a mock toast before chugging the rest of the contents down.

“Well you’d better not push it too far dear, you’re dishy but I don’t want my stock holders banging down my door because their children are abusing the Queen’s English with your lyrics.”

“I assure you Ms. Hudson; there is no probable outcome in which the public will find our grammar is incorrect or distorts the common language unless the peon in question is certifiably injudicious which should be immense as we’re headed to the colonies.”

Maratha’s face goes from fond to business in mere moments before turning to Sherlock, “Sherlock dear, you know that I both love you and owe you so much for helping me take the reins away from my late husband but if you can’t stop arresting talk show hosts my company won’t be able to promote you.”

His face mirrors her frown, “It’s hardly my fault if the majority of the media related hosts are daft enough to believe that their schemes will go unnoticed. If they really wanted to hide their shield transgressions they would have done so with more finesse.”

“Jeremy Kyle didn’t deserve to have his face bashed in Sherlock.”

“And John didn’t deserve to be placed on that brain rotting show just because a past fling claims she’s had his child when its _painfully_ obvious that the child was a product of several beers with her father’s coworker because of the nose.”

Sherlock points a long finger at his friend’s face, “It is statistically impossible for a child containing half of John’s genetics that wouldn’t turn up having a dominant gene for such a nose and the ears! They were-”

“Sherlock that was one of my favorite guilty pleasures to watch with my biscuits,” Maratha interrupts hoping to stall what could be a long dissection of how John could not have fathered the poor child.

“The man knew what his line of work entailed, it was not my fault that Kyle failed to account for the girl’s father disrupting the show by taking out his coworker and then finishing his outrage for the public humiliation on both himself and his daughter on him. Kyle should consider himself fortunate that John was kind enough to assist him before the girl’s father continued his carnage.”

“And now I’m forced to watch reruns while Jeremy Kyle recovers from his facial reconstruction surgery and physical therapy”

The man sniffs at the statement, “As if London would fall because of a trashy presenter, above all I deserve a medal for riding the minds of England from watching that monstrosity.”

Maratha’s eye twitches ever so slightly as she smiles, “I’m not kidding Sherlock, I don’t want to hear you’ve been outing every emcee that I’ve scheduled for the tour. If you can’t play nice with this next host I’m binning all of your experiments in your apartment.”

Sherlock knows she would too, as he has lived in her apartment complex at Baker Street Ms. Hudson has constantly voiced her opinions on his experiments under her roof.

She’s done it before, trashing some of his mold cultures that took _weeks_ for fermentation to set in; all that data lost because of her desire to clean and be made useful.

Like being a CEO of a major recording company was nothing but a hobby for her.

Still it was best to appease her, after all it had cost Sherlock nearly an arm and a leg to obtain those twelve frozen gerbil corpses for his experiments (the media had went wild with speculations of why a star like him needed dead gerbils. The stories were dense as the ones creating them from a new fad diet to a pet snake to ritualistic magic) and he didn’t want to go through ordering them again.

At least not without an assumed identity ready but somehow Sherlock doubted he could pull the same trick off twice.

Looking a bit more controlled Maratha turns a warm smile to John who straightens up at point, “And you dear, need to soften up. You’re always so stiff when you enter for an interview and meeting fans on camera. I know you have a reputation of being a real charmer Mr. ‘Three Continents Watson’ but I need more of that on film. It’s good self-promotion.”

He can feel his ears turning pink from the light scolding but John is nothing but a fighter, “I understand Ms. Hudson but all these questions and declarations are a bit much for a plain guy like me to take.”

Jim looks like he’s about to make another snide comment before Maratha wills it way with a warning glare, “That’s all fine but I need you to open up a bit more alright deary? People on the internet are already likening you to what was it? What I’ve got it on my phone the troublesome little thing… always disappearing when I need it.”

She’s digging through her black hole of a purse before her hand finds it and pulls it out and starts swiping, “Oh yes, as a hedgehog! It’s been trending for months with all these fake ‘John Watson’ sightings where hedgehog owners take pictures of their pets dressed like you in various places. It’s quite darling actually.”

Suddenly enthralled with some newer posts on ‘John Watson the Hedgehog’ John barely conceals his internal rage as Jim sniggers and snaps another picture for his sure to be nefarious plans.

The fact that John love coupled by her status as his employer just barely covers the indignation that the blasted internet pictures again.

As if his blog hadn’t been overrun by the photos pasted on its walls no matter _how_ many he deleted.

They just kept coming and he highly suspected that Moriarty had something to do with it, in fact he was almost a hundred percent sure that he was causing more problems as he typed furious on the couch with his phone in hand.

“Okay, I’ll try to be a bit more open in the future Ms. H.”

“That’s all I ask John. Another thing, you lot need to work together; there’s no ‘I’ in this team or enough contestants’ to form ‘me.’ A little rivalry is good and all for press but you need to be fighting different artists not each other.”

All the phones in the smelly dressing room ignite as a new message is sent amongst them.

“The **fuck** Jim?” John yells as his phone greets him with a picture taken minutes ago by Jim is now photo shopped onto a hedgehogs body and an army helmet entitled with ‘Captain John Watson, MD Hedgehog: made of jam, kittens and RAGE.’

“This is what I’m talking about gentleman, you can pull pig tails all you want but you need to have boundaries,” asserts Ms. Hudson swinging her phone in hand, “Jim, I need you to reel it in as well. As much as I adore your promotional pictures of John you need to work on yours don’t you think?”

Jim looks mildly horrified at the mention if such an act and solemnly hold up his right hand in a mock salute, “I swear on my boy scout’s honor it won’t happen again.”

“You were never a boy scout, there wasn’t a troop that would take you and your parents didn’t care enough to take you anyway,” Sherlock clarifies from his seat his position at the back of the room.

Martha’s clapping her hands before her boys go crazy, “You hoo! Boys! Let me finish so you can go, I got another meeting with the board in ten and Molly’s getting frantic with her texting.”

Satisfied that all eyes are on her Martha continues, “In conclusion, I want you boys to have fun and really shake the music world in a good way. Not that cheap trashy way with scandals and drugs or so help me you will end up like Adler. I want my boys to be gentlemen amongst the mass produced boy bands already out there, got it?”

There were collective affirmatives all around in the form of grunts and nods as Martha’s phone pinged, “Wonderful! Now your manager Athena will taking the tour with you and Stanford’s lined up a gig in New York City for the first stop. And don’t forget I’ll be watching! Toodles!”

Then with a quick wave Martha is gone from the room leaving the men in her wake.

“Christ, I thought she was never going to leave,” complains Greg as he trashes his empty bottle, “She’s a nice bird and all but her mouth going on and on…”

“Ms. Hudson is merely trying to drill her warnings into your thick skull about what her expectations are about the tour _Lestrade_.”

“Aye, chill Lock’ you know I care about Ms. H but it’s been a long day and as much as I enjoy your company I’d like to spend it enjoying myself before I’m crammed in a bus with you gents for a year.”

“Indeed, I also harbor some last minute business that requires my approval before the tour so if you’ll excuse me,” Mycroft says as he side steps Greg and Sherlock for the door.

“Oi! Hang on, I’ll ride with you Myc, just let me grab my coat,” Greg calls after following Mycroft out the door regardless of how his friend walked faster.

Jim was the next to jump to the door blowing a kiss to Sherlock before he left to ‘pack all the necessary items for his tour with Sherlock’ leaving John and Sherlock last to leave from the second rate dressing room.

“Guess we should be going too huh Sherlock? I know for a fact that you haven’t packed,” John says as Sherlock removes himself from the vanity chair and starts heading for the door, “Jesus, we’re really doing this. Going on tour to entertain thousands of people in different countries.”

“The estimate is more likely around millions if our fans site’s count is anything to go by.”

“Ta, mate, that makes me feel loads better.”

They walk down the empty halls of the studio for the exit into the alley where one of Mycroft’s cars are waiting for their arrival and getting in and chaperoned away.

Their rides were usually in silence unless Sherlock’s brilliant mind was lusting after new evidence to compose new lyrics for ‘THE WORK’ leaving John to watch the world pass by behind tinted windows so it surprised John when Sherlock spoke up halfway through the ride stuck in his ‘Mind palace’ stance.

“You shouldn’t be so apprehensive to the tour John; they are merely fans of our work that wish to have a better view of their idols. Nothing to be overly concerned about.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint them; they have all these unrealistic ideas about what I’m like, seriously, you should read some of the reader fan-fictions the write about us on the web. Actually some of it’s kind of disturbing what they write…I really don’t pour on the charm all the time right? They just make into this sort of cuddly smooth talker that morphs into military kink fest with bondage…”

“John I’m not one for sentiment so I’ll say this slowly: you will be fine. They are simply American girls that are lusting after their delusional version of you and no matter what you do their vision will not be swayed. Take a page from Gavin’s book-”

“Greg, Sherlock, his name’s GREG,” John forces into Sherlock’s tirade which gifted him an irritated open eye in return before he continued.

“Take a page from Lestrade’s book and just enjoy the ride as it were. You’re famous and have people screaming your praises and defending your choices at all times. They are fans, nothing to be frightened of.”

John isn’t completely sold on the speech but there is little he can do to prevent it, he signed a contract. So with minimal whining on his part John prepared for his trip around the globe with his best friend, his friend Greg, Mycroft, and the bane of his existence Moriarty.

It couldn’t be that bad, they were just fans right?

Nothing to be sacred of.

***

John Watson had faced many frightening things in the line of duty, he was in war zones patching up fallen comrades, doing recon missions that soured fast, nearly died at the hand of a suicide bomber and was shot at but this…this was a nightmare having a baby with insanity.

And boy was that baby bloody **terrifying**.

Seven hours of nonstop flying over the Atlantic Ocean and that’s after an added hour through check point with Sherlock and Greg with their ‘questionable’ carryon items, while Greg’s gun along with his own were approved after some well-placed phone calls to the higher ups, Sherlock’s harpoon remained in England for the sake of time (thus ensuring a sulking Sherlock for most of the airtime).

From the window of the private jet plane that carted him and the rest of his band mates to the States’ John could see them, legions of fans pressed against the airport glass with their posters and technology, eyes glossed over with a manic gleam as the plane docked in.

John makes eye contact with one young girl squished at the bottom panel and the reaction is like a virus as her scream sets off an entire upheaval of shrieks that almost causes the panels to rattle at the noise.

To be quite honest John’s not entirely sure why everyone else can be so damned clam about it, Greg is busy playing a game on his phone and losing by the sounds of it, Mycroft texting some important delegate or such, Athena absently tapping at the screen of her phone, Sherlock is lost in his Mind palace while Jim is creating more chaos by hamming it up by blowing kissy faces out the window.

He can already see the airplane security teams flaying trying to bring order as the overzealous fans start _chanting_ as the terminal is connected to the plane and the seat belt sign has been turned off.

 _By god this was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I went to war_ , John laments as he picks up his duffel and gets up from his seat nudging Sherlock’s shoulder as he goes mindful of the mess that Jim made with the peanut bags from the snack bar and Greg’s failed attempt at doing beer pong on a flying aircraft.

The poor amber liquids could never be reclaimed and then there’s the matter of the sad sod that Mycroft’s going to pay to clean it. Such a shame…

Greg’s the first one ready to go with his pack on and shit eating grin in place as he’s still buzzed from his draft from the mini bar, “Come on lads, it’s time to put on a good show, it’s all about good first impressions.”

“Sherlock recall Ms. Hudson’s conversation if the urge arises to inform everyone about the mayor’s recent transgressions greeting us at Grand Central Station,” Mycroft called over his shoulder as he got in place in front of Greg to lead the proceeding.

Shaken from his mind palace Sherlock cuts eyes at his brother before joining him and John at the front of the plane before pocketing his hands.

“Jim we’ll leave without you if you don’t stop licking the windows,” yells Greg as the captain opens the door way to let them through.

“As if I’d let you off the plane without me!” Jim remarks loudly before throwing his headphones on as he throws his messenger bag on and rushes to catch up with the line heading into the tunnel.

As they approach the end of the tunnel Mycroft tries to warn the others to brace themselves for impact but it’s too late.

Instantly they are blinded by light and sound, almost like a bomb going off at close proximity leaving them deaf and visionless.

It takes a while for the hearing to come back; the sight however is still a bit dodgy as the cameras keep firing at their every movement.

Greg is forever grateful to have carried his shade on his head and is able to deflect most of the blows.

Mycroft like his younger brother stands unaffected by the masses even as the shower of undergarments and flowers fall from the air once more upon them.

John looks several shades from having a panic attack as the throngs of young women and men alike are throwing themselves at the barricade of security officers.

It’s Jim who’s having a blast taking his own pictures of the crowd inciting more squeals and frenzy at every inch closer he gets to the fans.

The mad bastard even has the crowd start to parrot back the chorus of ‘The Pink Lady’ as he sings Sherlock’s solo.

“Girl, I know you think we meant something I know you think we'd be good together And I hate to be the one to tell you But this isn't a complicated case It's just a study in pink,” he sings with his hips swaying as the fans follow suit. The swarm is enraptured as the watch the impromptu performance as Jim sings on, “I was having a hard time, And you were in pink when we met But girl I have to tell you now That I think you look better in red.” **I look better in red** comes the garbled screams the crowd as Jim dances around the airport seats. “Because you were so naive You thought you could hide the evidence I'm not here for a play for revenge I'm not here for keeps This was a study in pink And I look better in red.”

The chorus is shouted again before he finishes with the climax, “And now you’re _dead_!”

Sound beyond what is acceptable for human hearing erupts again and the clusters push forward for more of their idols.

At this juncture no one can find the original path that was parted for the band members to leave the airport terminal.

Sherlock has a steadying arm on John as he looks to his brother warningly, “Mycroft we need to get John out of here or you’ll have episode to contain.”

A quick text on his phone and their manager Athena is able to part the sea of people and resurrect the path out of the airport without any other altercations once Jim had finally lost interest in controlling his fan base in pursuit of Sherlock’s attentions.

Reaching the tour bus had been a trying journey as they were flanked by their fans and media crews behind human shields but their manager was nothing but efficient in silencing the assailants to make it to the vehicle unattended by outsiders.

The bus is huge looking more like a double decker bus from London with the **Baker Street Boys: The Great Game Tour** scripted boldly on the sides.

Not a bad place to camp out in on the road between shows.

The door spread opened revealed a warm face to greet them, “Sherlock! John! Good to see you again!”

John bless him, is brought out from the shock seeing a familiar face as Sherlock guides him into the van after Greg the van, “Angelo? What are you doing here?”

Angelo is nothing but smiles as he ushers the others in before shutting the doors, “I’m driving the bus my friend and cooking for the tour! I can’t have you wasting away on junk food the entire year.”

“But your restaurant-”

“Will be fine, my cousin’s running it until I get back. He needs the experience anyway if he’s going to take over for my retirement years.”

With the panic lifting John can see that the bus is equipped with a small kitchen and fridge and is that a bathroom over there?

Upon closer inspection it is, and very spacious considering it’s on a bus.

 _I wonder if there’s another toilet or is this the only one,_ John thinks as he begins up the ladder to inspect the second story of the bus but is halted by Sherlock’s hand on his back, “Yes, there’s another toilet upstairs you can see it later as Angelo wishes to depart.”

And as on cue Angelo’s voice is spread across the bus via intercom, “Now sit down everyone we’re about to depart for the Grand Central Station for your welcome party and then your accommodations for the next few days.”

John sits at the closest available seat as does the rest of the party follows suit, _the worst is gone Watson, pull yourself together. It can only go uphill from here._

At least, that’s what he thought _before_ he outed the Mayor’s Tranny nights with both his misses and mistress on worldwide television.

A glorious start to a tour with Ms. Hudson sending hellfire through her PA Molly who sounds close to tears as she relays her bosses' ire.

Truly, how will any other music group compete?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, all those characters are popping up in here.  
> You think anyone is safe?  
> THINK AGAIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, the faces I was making in the college lunchroom must have been epically frightening because no one wanted to sit near me at all.  
> Also I need help with some lyrics to go with these songs.  
> Anyone with some lines will be credited.  
> Thanks in advance!


End file.
